


Not missing a thing

by lw531



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smutt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 21:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18396887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lw531/pseuds/lw531
Summary: Written after "I don't want to miss a thing," how do Max and Liz finally start dating?How long does it take to...ROSWELL NEW MEXICO AND ITS CHARACTERS ARE NOT MY PROPERTY





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my attempt to integrate I don't want to miss a thing into the storyline of "without evidence I know." I decided to post as a unique story.

Leaving the burnt lab, Max leads Liz out contemplating what they both discussed. A fourth alien using trauma to control others, Max thought to himself, sustains tension even when they got Isobel out of the pod. The night before, they were teasing each other about taking their relationship to the next level, and now, with the attack on the lab, they were contemplating an unknown enemy. Isobel wasn’t at fault for Rosa’s murder, Liz believed, which meant the most important women in his life had nothing between them. With that, one thing remained clear the fourth alien was more powerful than they were and could strike at any moment.   
Liz leads Max out of the lab and into the staff closet to grab her jacket and purse out of her locker. With all the honesty of the week, she hoped there was a greater chance of working together and addressing the fourth alien problem once they figured out who it was. Alex has learned more about Michael’s history. There were fewer people in the know than not given how Kyle told Jenna on top of everyone else knowing. Maria, among her close friends, remained in the dark. Part of that was informed because Michael told Alex he loved him and vice versa. Part of it was because of Maria’s mom’s illness. And that shooter’s timing now left them in the dark behind how the fourth alien may have led Isobel to kill Rosa. Liz couldn’t shake that they lost their chance to know more. “If only I insisted on having Isobel take the antidote,” Liz thinks out loud as they walked out of the hospital, “if only we kept it--   
“You can’t think like that Liz,” Max says wrapping his arms around her. “You were trying to keep each other safe; going for cover was the best idea.”   
Huddling herself into his arms, she says to his chest, “Can I just stay with you tonight?”   
“Yeah,” he answers kissing her forehead, “Sure, but you’re driving.”   
“Why?” she asks pulling away from him.   
“Because I came here with Jenna,” he answers smiling, “so my car’s at home.”   
“Oh,” she says as they turn to walk towards the parking lot. Considering what Jenna had said about Max’s heroism, Liz tells Max, “You know she cares about you, right?”   
“Who?” he asks as they cross the hospital’s lawn towards the parking garage.   
“Jenna,” Liz answers, “she was surprised about you going in there to be the hero; she said that was new. And then she was talking about how you hadn’t come out yet when I saw the smoke coming from the building. Her tone,” Liz continues slowing her pace, “esta enamorada.”   
“Really?” Max asks, “I think it’s hard for her that she knew so little about me...”   
“That doesn’t mean she wasn’t invested,” Liz says.   
“She told me you were really scared when I was in here,” Max shares with her as they near the elevators.   
“Yeah,” Liz mutters, not knowing if she should explain her sympathy for Jenna. It wasn’t a sympathy based on preference, rather on seeing a woman feel things that weren’t shared. On the elevator ride, they remain silent, standing at a distance, reflecting on the conversation they had just had about Jenna. Liz wonders how to navigate dating a guy whose partner had such strong feelings for him, knowing that Max and Liz just started dating and that, before then, Max had been pining for her for as long as he had been, even while sleeping with Jenna.   
On reaching her car, Max breaks the silence and says, “You know I don’t have feelings for her.”   
“Yes,” she answers grabbing his hand instead of unlocking the car, “I shared what I realized about Jenna so that you’re careful with her,” she adds, “she knows where she stands with you. Respect what she’s invested in you if that makes sense…”   
“Noted,” he agrees and sarcastically suggests, “maybe we should set her up with Kyle.”   
“Aye!” Liz chuckles unlocking her car, “que voy a hacer contigo?”   
“What?!”   
“Yeah,” Liz begins to mock, “that makes PERFECT sense. Do you even know if their personalities click?”   
“They both share a secret that’d be awkward to share with anyone else,” he answers, for some, that’s a start,” he answers as he walks towards the passenger’s door.   
They spend the car ride home debating about whether Jenna and Kyle would make sense given their personalities and histories. In talking about other people, they briefly forget about the intensity of the day’s events. On arriving home, though, Max’s phone buzzes with the news Isobel took more secret serum Michael had kept secret from Liz. “Just so you know,” Max says as she walks around to him, “Michael swiped a vial of antidote and Isobel took more of it.”   
“She started remembering knowing Rosa,” Liz says as she opens the backseat door behind Max’s, “maybe she’ll learn some more clues about who the fourth alien was.”   
“Hmm,” Max says watching her grab a duffel bag from behind the door, “we’ll probably find out what happened tomorrow,” as he holds out his hand to take her bag, “Thank you for being good with her…”   
“I mean,” Liz says giving it to him, “it must be horrible to have someone have used you as a puppet to do horrible things.”   
“Yeah,” Max agrees as they walk to his front door. As he shifts her bag to his other shoulder, he turns to ask her, “what’s with the bag?”   
“I carry a change of clothes," she answers, “because sometimes I work late and wanna get out of stuffy work clothes before I go home.”   
“Really?” he asks as he leads her to his door.   
“Mhmm,” she answers as she catches up to him, “sometimes I work overnight and use the clothes to nap in one of the doctor’s resting rooms instead of going home…”   
“Huh.”   
“Yeah,” she explains as she follows him into his house, “especially useful over the past few weeks, had to cure my future boyfriend’s sister.”   
“Boyfriend, huh?” he asks throwing her back onto his armchair.   
“Yes,” she said wrapping her arms around him, “boyfriend…”   
“Hmmm,” he hums.   
After a small kiss, she breaks apart and walks to his kitchen, “what are we eating for dinner?”   
“Dinner?”   
“Yeah,” she says looking through his fridge, “I’ve barely eaten today. Have you?”   
As she stands up from the fridge, which was stocked but nothing to cook coming to mind, Max lays a hand on the small of her back and answers, “No, but let’s just order in; we’ve been through a lot today…”   
“I was so scared when you went back in there after you led us out,” she says pulling out filtered water pitcher, “what were you thinking?”   
“Trying to catch the bad guy,” he answers with a shrug as she pulls out two glasses, “I couldn't--   
“Valenti was pissed because you weren’t following protocol.”   
“I know,” he says as she pours him a glass of water, “it’s just been such a...so much has happened around us, and it’s not like people didn’t know we existed--   
“They just wanted to hide it,” Liz interjects as they both walk back to the front room. “While I first wanted to know what happened to Rosa, so much more has become clear about her, about you, and about this town…”   
Max nods as Liz sits down and leans on the couch. He stays standing for a minute, recalling the mysteries solved that led to the realization of a fourth alien. On uncovering Rosa’s real autopsy, they realize that there were people in government who knew about aliens. On Liz following the evidence she had found, Grant Green dies by Wyatt Long’s hands because someone possessed him and led him to destroy evidence at the Emporium. He drew the symbol Max had tattooed on his back and that Max’s mom said Michael was drawing all over the place when she met the kids. Following the symbol to Texas, they learned an alien had come out of the pods earlier, healed people like Max had, and died as Is, Max, and Michael were coming out of the pods. The pacifist who burnt the lab led them to believe that the fourth alien was using people to murder others or destroy evidence of those who got too close.   
After a few minutes, Liz grabs his hand and calls out, “Max.”   
“Sorry,” he says sitting down next to her, “I was just reviewing everything we’ve learned in the past few months,” adding as he took her in his shoulder, “it’s a lot.”   
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she says leaning her head on his chest, “we’ve had too many scares.”   
He smoothes her hair from her forehead and bends his neck to give her a kiss, “You’re trembling.”   
She squeezes him tighter, “I just--I hated being rational today because part of me wanted to go in there with you, but Jenna threatened to cuff me--   
“Liz,” he says lifting her face up to his. Taking in her dark chocolate eyes he tells her, “I’m okay.”   
Kissing him is all she could do to not be overwhelmed by the fears she didn’t allow herself to acknowledge that day. Still, she feels her tears fall as he pulls her in closer. She’s too involved now, and what’s going on is bigger than just one cover-up. There’s someone out to get them in ways that none of them can begin to imagine. None of her logic or skills could solve this problem, and hit with how many people she cared about would be affected, her attempts at strength broke. Kissing him was the only thing that could bring her comfort. Each touch, each attempt at pressing closer to each other and she was growing used to how unwilling he was to leave her alone in this.   
“Saving people is one thing,” she admits when they part from their kiss, “but please don’t go being the hero without help, okay?”   
“Okay,” he says as she returns her head to his chest.   
On hearing her stomach rumble, she asks Max for the menus he has at his house.   
“I order from apps,” he explains unwrapping an arm from around her and pulling out his phone.   
She sits up and nods, beginning to scroll through his favorites, “Pizza feels like a good idea,” she says, “with wings.”   
He smiles taking in the sight of her leaning back on the other side of the couch and scrolling through his phone. When she sets her feet on his lap, he begins taking off her shoes. “What ingredients do you want on the pizza?” she asks.   
“Mushroom,” he begins as he slips off one shoe, “spinach and…”   
“Sausage,” she interjects.   
“Basil?” he asks as he slips off the other.   
“Hmm,” she says tilting her head up as she considers it, “that works. And your wings?”   
“Real spicy,” he says trying to mimic the guy from the motel.   
“Max?!” Liz throws her head back in laughter and asks, Seriously?”   
“A little spicy,” he clarifies the corners of his mouth defying gravity.   
“Okay,” she says a corner of her mouth lifting in a smile.   
Once she’s done with the order, she hands him his phone in the case he needs to put in any information.   
He completes the order as she lays her hands behind her head, taking in the day’s events. She texts her dad to let him know she’s staying with Max and that they’re both okay. “I should have done this earlier,” she says on reviewing her messages, “I know he doesn’t have access to a tv, but people come in and talk. Soy tan mala.”   
“You should call him,” Max offers, “I know he’d appreciate that…”   
“And that’s why,” she begins as she sits up, “he likes you.”   
She stands up and dials the number at the crashdown, catching him up on the days events. He sounds relieved to hear her voice and in response to the distorted accounts he received from Crashdown customers, she clarifies the nature of the events, telling him that they were attacking the kind of research she was doing. That no one was hurt, save a bullet grazing.   
Max watches her pace, using Spanish to speak to her dad. Watching her and listening to her, he pays closer attention to the tone she uses with her dad. Still the grief and stress from earlier today, though tenderness underlies it. Not just a daughter apologizing for taking his fear granted, her soften sounds and therefore feels differently in Spanish. When she tells her dad she loves him before getting off the phone, Max shares his observations with her saying, “Spanish isn’t about setting yourself apart, is it?”   
She returns to the couch, laying down in the position she was before, she explains, “No.”   
As he begins to smooth his hands over her legs, she says, “I think and speak and feel in both. With my dad, speaking Spanish is a language we share, centering on the sharing. Sometimes when I get mad I use it, or really sad...I also use it when I’m really happy.   
“Other times,” she continues as their eyes meet, “it’s just what comes to my head.”   
“When I saw my mom a couple months ago,” Max begins, “she said it took us months to speak, like we were studying them to learn the language--which makes sense,” he says looking into that memory, “we were trying to make sense of our place in the world. Sometimes I wish we knew the language we spoke before--that we knew some part of our history, but then,” he says returning his gaze to her, “sometimes I realize not having it means I can focus on the present,” and laying on top of her he says, “the future.”   
“Not knowing your past must be hard sometimes,” she says running her fingers through his hair. “That you have 2 other people as lost as you are about that—”   
“I feel like,” he says, “that’s enough for now. What did the healer on the rez know? Did she know we were in the pods? Did she know when we were going to walk out?” Setting his head on her chest, he says, “I don’t know that I want to get completely lost going under that trail.”   
She smooths her hand over his hair and they sit in silence, contemplating the uncertainty of what lies ahead. Uncertainty based on the lack of memory, Liz thinks to herself, leaves them--Max, Michael, and Isobel--pawns in someone else’s game. A game that affects so many more people than they realize.   
Max finds comfort in his closeness with Liz, despite everything else going on around them. Her heartbeat steadies under him, and her breathing helps him calm down after the intensity of events that day. As important as solving the mysteries around them may be, for the moment, he surrenders to the feelings of Liz’s closeness. Her hand smoothing over his hair, the rise and fall of her body under him as she inhales and exhales, make him the happiest he’s ever been.   
When the doorbell snaps them out of their cocoon, Max gets up to answer it and brings the pizza to where they were laying. By the time he gets there, however, Liz is sitting up, “do you want to eat here, instead of the table?” she asks as he sets the pizza down on the coffee table.   
He shrugs as stands back up, “It doesn’t matter.”   
He goes back to the kitchen to grab plates and napkins.   
As he goes to the kitchen, Liz sets aside the nonfood items--books, mostly--to protect them from potential tomato sauce stains. She grabs a hair tie out of her back pocket and sweeps her hair up, so it doesn’t get in the way of her eating. She takes a plate from Max when he returns to sitting next to her.   
“I love,” he says lowering his head, “your neck,” he whispers into it before he kisses her.   
“Max,” she says pulling her body away and grabbing a slice, “a comer!”   
“We can do that later,” he declares as he grabs a piece of pizza.   
“We can,” she says giving him a side nudge.


	2. Chapter 2

“Can I go take a shower?” Liz asks after they finish the pizza and most of the wings.  
He nods as he picks up the pizza box, “Sure,” adding as he follows her down the hall, “if you give me a sec, I can get you a towel and…”  
“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” she says as she walks to the bathroom, across the kitchen, “and you can just leave it in there once you’re done in here.”  
“Oh,” he says heat rising to his face, “you sure?”  
“Mmhmm,” she says as she walks into the bathroom.   
He steals a moment from cleaning up to take in the good that was happening. Liz’s sense of trust and intimacy with him still surprising him in the tiny moments like that. In months they went from estranged former classmates to sharing food, space, time, and closeness. They had saved each other, literally and figuratively, in ways that bound them together, inspiring a deeper love than he felt possible. As he walked outside to throw out the garbage, he caught his reflection smiling at him. The clear cold night sky smiled down at him as he placed recycling and garbage in their respective containers. As the cold air entered his lungs, he felt the joy in his heart return it to the sky warmer and lighter than it entered him.   
He washed his hands before going to his linen closet to grab a towel for Liz. He knocked on the door, and called out, “Liz,” after Liz didn’t respond to the knock.   
On the other side of the door, Liz was letting the water run over her, letting the hot water attack the knots in her back. When she heard Max mumble what may have been her name, she called out, “It’s open!”  
In his bathroom, he found that Liz had folded the clothes she had worn that day, leaving them in the corner of the sink closest to the door. Her other clothes, a set of sweats, sat on the other, under a comb and a bottle of lotion. He set the folded towel on top of it, and then asks, “Do you need anything else?”  
She peeks her head out of the curtain and said, “No,” and on meeting his eyes added, “thank you.”  
He nods in response, turning towards the door as she returned behind the curtain. On exiting the bathroom, he enters the kitchen to grab a cloth and cleaner to wipe down the table. He bends down in front of the coffee table, wipes stray drops of pizza and wing sauce that landed as they served themselves. Once he’s done, he returns the books Liz set aside to their place, save for two he felt were ready to return to their place on the shelves. He hangs her jacket on the coat rack by the front door, next to his, and drops the cloth he used to clean the table into the laundry machine right next to the bathroom. Afterward, he scans the kitchen and makes sure he puts away the napkin container he had pulled out earlier. Then he rinses the dishes they used and sets them in the dishwasher.   
He takes off his shirt and undershirt, throws them in the wash. As he passes the bathroom door again, he knocks and asks, “Do you want to put your clothes in the wash?”  
Already out of the shower, and having thrown on her sweatshirt, she says, “Sure, just gimme a minute.” She throws on her sweatpants and opens the door to hand Max the clothes she had worn that day. She pauses in front of his naked torso, looking him down then up, “I didn’t use,” she begins as she clears her throat, “all the hot water…”  
“Thanks,” he says as he takes the clothes she hands him.   
“I also did my best to not have my hair clog your drain,” she adds as she loosens her grip on her clothes, “it tends to get everywhere because it’s so long…”  
He smiles as he walks backward from her, and then turning to put the clothes he’s collected in the washer. “I’ma check to see if there’s anything else I can put in here,” he says as he turns to his room, “before I take a shower.”  
“I’ll be snooping in your books in the meantime,” she says as she walks to the living room.   
On reviewing his titles, catching the sound of the shower in the background, she notices that he mostly reads white men, a disconcerting fact, save for the moment she reminds herself that he didn’t go to college and that Roswell doesn’t have bookstores that sell people of color or Latin American authors translated in English. And how would anyone know where to look, considering who they were assigned in class. Most of the books were cloth hardcovers, used and rare books, which also explained his limitations. The titles were familiar American white men and British white men writers, with a scattering of Jane Austen, Mary Shelley, and the Bronte sisters. As she turned towards his desk, she realized he didn’t have a television.   
She peeked in his room to see if there was one in there.   
There wasn’t.   
“He really is a bookworm,” she thinks out loud, “huh.”   
She leaves the wall of books, seeking more water to drink. Being well hydrated, especially in times of stress, helps her sleep better than getting drunk, a lesson she learned in her last year in Colorado. Trying to plan a wedding had sparked enough anxiety and stress that getting drunk with her friends out there couldn’t shake. Being back, she could look back at that time and recognize that she struggled with sleep because of how much of her life had been unresolved. As messy as the world around her was at that moment, she had a sense of vision and purpose and peace that she hadn’t felt since she ran away all those years ago.   
For once in her life, she no longer felt the need to run.   
Looking at his walls of books, every shelved corner, and over the head nook filled with them, she considered the worlds and emotions they allowed him to escape to or, at least, worlds in which he could get lost and imagine belonging. She’d sought that by leaving Roswell physically. Looking at the newer titles on the shelf above the counter/island dividing his kitchen from his living room, she wondered if books offered him a similar escape. She walked outside to take a look at the night sky she rarely saw from her and her dad’s place, as their view was crowded by street lights and buildings.   
Max lived on the edge of town, a part of it, though not completely integrated into it. The open land beyond the edge of his patio swallowed a great deal of light, leaving the stars the stage to dance, shine, and sparkle. She never studied constellations, like Rosa, but she did love the patterns in the sky above her head. 

OoOoO   
Max gets confused when, on exiting the bathroom, there’s no sight or sound of Liz. As he calls out for her, he throws his remaining dirty clothes in the washer. When still no answer, he turns to see his side door cracked open, a draft coming in. On walking out the door, he finds Liz standing in a sea of darkness, her gray sweats reflecting the light of the moon and the stars. “Hey,” he called out, "what’re you doing?”  
She turns to see Max clad in pants and his jacket, “Just thinking,” she answered walking towards him. “There’s so much more I have to learn about you.”  
“What d’you mean?” he asks as she approaches him.   
“Your house is walled with so many books,” she begins, “you want to write something people can get lost in because,” she pauses to take his hands, “they’re the safest you’ve been…”  
He bends down to kiss her, and his arms wrap tighter around her as she leans into him more. “Your cheeks are cold,” he breathes as they part for air.  
“Kissing you makes them warmer,” she whispers back nuzzling his nose before returning to kissing him.   
He collects her sweatshirt in his hands, and she feels the remaining draft tickle her back. So she slides her hands under his jacket, digging her fingers into the small of his back. “Your hands,” he squeals.   
“Sorry,” she laughs as she pulls them out from under his sweatshirt.   
“How long were you out there?”  
“Dunno,” she answers blowing her hot breath into her hands.   
He takes her cold hands into his and rubs them warm, “C’mon,” he says pulling her back to the couch.   
“What do you do when you’re not reading?” she asks as she sits with her back against his chest.   
“I’m not always reading,” he defends.   
“You don’t have a television,” she retorts sitting up and turning towards his face.   
“Gimme a sec,” he says lifting her off of him. He plugs his phone into the port he digs up under other books and the journal on his desk. He opens his music collection and starts a playlist of acoustic rock he sometimes listens to do to get him writing. He returns to his place on the couch, returns her to lean against his chest. “Sometimes,” he says smoothing his hand against her hair, “I listen to music to wind down after an intense day...a book doesn’t always cut it.”  
“Ah,” she says nesting herself in Max’s embrace. “Will you sing to me?” she asks wrapping her hands around the arms of his around her.   
“Well, it has to be the right song.”  
‘I’ve got all night,” she says humming to the familiar tune on the radio.  
They lay there, taking in the music, but every so often Max would look down to make sure she was still awake. She was, caressing his arms to the slow rhythms of the acoustic blues songs emanating from his phone. After the intensity of the day, they found a rhythm of silence he hadn’t had since before she arrived. That silence, though, was wrapped up in an ache of loneliness he didn’t believe he’d ever be able to heal, let alone have the right to heal.   
As “Bright Eyes,” comes on, Liz asks, “wanna dance with me?”  
“Here?” he asks as she turns to face him.   
She nods and stands up.   
He follows, taking her hand and leading her to the open space between the edge of the couch and the hallway. They take the other in their arms as they had ten years earlier. “I’m glad we found our way back here,” she whispers to his heart.   
“Me, too,” he responds running his fingers through her hair, twirling along between them.   
She considers saying more or leaning up to kiss him but decides against it, surrendering herself to the stillness of dancing in the arms of the man who loves her. Earlier attempts at similar stillness weren’t as fill or grounded as she found herself with him. Moving forward, she had no more reasons to run or leave or more reasons to stay.   
As the song changes, they remain dancing, more like swaying slowly to the music, wrapped in each other.


	3. Into the bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz is falling asleep on the couch and asks to move to the bedroom...does she stay asleep?

The closeness of Liz’s body, raises Max’s temperature, a heat he’s not used to. He gets up, checks out the electricity in the rest of the house to make sure he hasn’t blown a fuse. He uses that time to transfer the laundry he forgot about to the dryer. He puts Liz’s clothes on a drying rack he unfolds in the kitchen. When he returns to his room, he takes the sight of Liz in his bed, the place where her legs curl lit by the light of the moon coming through the window. The shadows cast over her face warm her somehow. He felt his smile come across his face. Maybe if I just take off my sweatpants, I’ll be okay, he thinks to himself pulling them off at the foot of the bed.   
He rests them on a knob in his bureau before crawling back into bed. He smooths his hands over Liz’s hair, doing his best to keep his legs on his side. The repetitive motion of caressing Liz becomes its own lullaby. It’s not long before he falls back to sleep.   
Liz wakes up to the sound of a tumble. She opens her eyes to find Max sound asleep. She sneaks from under his arm and, once she’s confirmed it didn’t wake him up, she goes to check on the sound. On walking to the kitchen doorway, she finds her clothes on a drying rack, “Oh, Max,” she whispers putting a hand to her heart. She then checks the dryer and finds that the sound must have come from the clank of his jeans’ button on the wall of the dryer. Feeling her mouth a little groggy, she brushes her teeth and rinses her face again. The day before’s events still shaking her, she returns to Max’s room and spoons him. On learning his legs are bare, she takes off her top, hoping the feel of their skin against each other soothes her. She sets her cheeks against his back, her hand over his heart, using the sound of his heartbeat as her lullaby. Her breathing rhythm begins to follow his, allowing her to go back to sleep. 

OoO  
When the sun begins to strike his face, Max begins to take notice of what had changed since he had gotten up and gone back to sleep. Feeling Liz’s exposed arm against him, he slowly turns around to find her topless. He feels her warm breasts against his skin, but tries not to look at them, What would have inspired her to take off her sweatshirt, he thinks to himself, was it that warm for both of them last night?   
He slides her arm off of him and covers her up as he gets out of bed to use the bathroom. As he washes his hands, he throws cold water against his face, against his chest, to cool down the feelings running through him. He brushes his teeth and, once his face is cleaned of toothpaste, wonders if his face needs a shave. He decides against it.   
When he returns to his room, he pulls Love in the Time of Cholera from his nightstand drawer, gets back under the covers and starts reading. Working second shift, the morning will give him plenty of time to finish reading it. From time to time, he looks down at Liz, lost in sleep. He steals a kiss to her shoulder, during one of those times, breath was taken away by how beautiful she looks as she sleeps.   
Liz blinks her eyes open to a four-shelf bookshelf, each shelf filled with paperbacks whose spines were too beat up to make out the titles. She turns onto her left side and finds Max reading. “Good morning,” she says as she stretches her arms up.   
“Good morning,” he says smiling down at her, turning back towards his book when her nipple starts to peek out.   
She catches the change in expression, “Max,” she asks, “what’s wrong?”  
“Nothing,” he says keeping his eyes on his book, “I didn’t want to stare,” he says clearing his throat, “you don’t have a--a--you’re topless.”  
“Oh,” she says, “I got hot last night.”  
“Sorry,” he says, “I tried to cool down when I woke myself,” he continues keeping his eyes focused on the book, though catching a glimpse of her sitting up, with the sheet covering her chest. “I took off my pants to cool down…”  
Once she fully sits up, she tucks the sheet under harms, which prompts Max to lay his book down.


End file.
